Captured!!

A true love story

by Bonnie J Keller

 

People often ask me how all this got started.  I usually draw a blank look, bat my eyelashes innocently, and ask, “All what?” But I know what they mean.  How is it that an average, down to earth, “regular” person like me got started liking, and (gasp!) loving reptiles? Well, it all goes back to my childhood……

 

“Daddy!  It pooped in my hair!” screeched my older sister. She was about nine at the time, and my Dad had thought it oh, so funny to place the smooth green snake he had just caught in the front yard into my sister’s hair to wear like a crown.  Naturally, the snake didn’t think so, and had left its smelly reaction all over my sister’s head.  Somewhere there exists a slide of this particular encounter with snakes, one of many my father allowed while we were growing up. I didn’t have any brothers, just 2 sisters, and I was the middle child. I guess my Dad just decided that it didn’t matter that we were girls, he was going to show us the “ropes” anyway.  So, every snake or lizard that got too close to my father’s quick hands (and feet) ended up being an afternoon pet. We got familiar with all the local snakes found in south central Virginia where we had a nice quiet house on a nice quiet street.  

We traveled a lot overseas for my Dad’s job, so we saw some interesting reptiles elsewhere, too.  Swaziland and South Africa I don’t remember, but I can only imagine the look on his face when the locals told him not to go near a particular creek. “Why?” he asked.  “Because of the Green Death,” they answered.  It took some time for my Dad to understand that the large pretty green-grey snakes he had seen there were the notorious Green Mamba.  He knew enough to stay away.  He had already had run-ins with 2 cobras in the Phillipines that he’d caught.  The first one he didn’t realize what it was, the second one he did. He was fortunate and skilled enough to have not been bitten.

South Korea I remember a little of, especially one day when we were atop a mountain at a remote worksite when my Dad captured a local snake and took it into the building there.  Suddenly, every Korean exited the building, all at once. We were hysterical, but thinking back on it, I wouldn’t be surprised if that local snake had more to it than we knew at the time.. I have no idea what it was, but that is exactly my point, because neither did my Dad. (I sometimes play a game now of looking through snake atlases at the species found in Korea and try to pick out which one I thought it might have been….)

When we got back from Korea, we moved from the city to a large country lot outside town.  Our 75 acres was teeming with life, reptilian and other. We had purchased part of an old plantation that hadn’t been lived on in at least 20 years.  The old tobacco barns had become perfect sites for copperhead dens, owl’s nests, and various “boogie-men” that only children see. My parents were quick to teach us about what was there.  My parents were both very good at teaching us about our world.  Not only did they show us reptiles, but the remote farm was great for stargazing, geological discussions, raising orphaned wildlife, and just growing up with nature. My biggest shame from that time, though, are the memories of us engraving our names into the shells of the Eastern Box turtles that frequented our yard.  

My Mom never loved reptiles, but she didn’t hesitate to deal with them when they started eating the baby birds that lived outside our kitchen.  Nor did she hesitate to give what-for to some ignoramus who she saw deliberately swerve to run over a snake in the road.  “Big hero!!” I remember she yelled at him, “We’re so much better off now that you ran over that poor snake.  You’ve saved us all!” What she didn’t know was that she became my hero saying that to him.

The biggest concern about reptiles on our farm was, of course, the copperheads.  We had a 200 year-old building within 50 feet of our house, formerly used as slave quarters during pre-Civil War times. This house served as our shed, turkey and chicken nursery, and storage area. It was frequented by wildlife of all kinds, drawn by the baby poultry we had housed in there. Opossums, foxes, and (of course) snakes; big ones, little ones, all kinds lived there. Under the house lived a woodchuck, and at first, copperheads. I’d never seen a copperhead before we moved there. They were about the only kind of snake I ever saw my Dad deliberately kill. Usually he was adamant about not killing snakes, how good they were for keeping down the rodent population, etc.  But, with three youngsters running around that had started to develop a taste for reptile catching, he couldn’t take the chance.  He eradicated every copperhead he found that was reasonably close to our living areas.  He now regrets that he never kept one of those copperhead bodies to show to the “authorities”.  They weren’t regular copperheads, and didn’t look like anything the atlases describe about copperheads.  They were up to 6 feet long, and were dark colored.  They had the markings of a copperhead, but not the coloration. There were some other differences that I don’t recall anymore, but they were definitely different.  My father called them, “Highland Moccasins”, these aberrant copperheads, and he insists to this day they are something special.  Unfortunately, there aren’t any more around to show anybody.

The only other time I ever saw my Dad kill a snake was when he caught a HUGE black king snake inside our nursery for the umpteenth time.  This particular snake was well over 6 feet long (my Dad could hold it over his head and it could reach the ground.) Somewhere there is a picture of me holding this snake (I think it’s the same one) when I was only 8 years old.  (My Dad had shown me how to tell the regular black rat snakes from black king snakes.) We had tried relocating this snake several times, only to have it return several weeks later.  My parents finally got tired of providing this animal with easy meals. The poultry brooder was an easy target, and this snake had no qualms about accepting free meals. Finally, my Dad killed this snake, but hated doing it.  He apologized to it, and tried to explain why he had to do this, but he knew that it didn’t do any good to the snake.  It did me some good, though.  I learned why death was sometimes acceptable.

Growing up out there on that mountain gave me plenty of opportunity to practice my own reptile catching skills. Along with the snakes, we had what seemed like millions of fence lizards; you know, the grey ones with the bright blue bellies. I used to find a seat under the giant 200+ year old maple tree and just wait.  I’d be very still, and they would come out of hiding slowly, looking for movement.  The fact that I was sitting right there didn’t clue them in, I guess, because they would come and just about climb right over me. I’d catch them quick as a wink and laugh at them squiggling in my hot sweaty palm.  I learned quickly that if I flipped them over so they were belly up I could put them to “sleep” by gently rubbing their tummy up and down.  I still don’t know why that worked, but it did. It seemed to mesmerize them.  Perhaps it just meant that I was pressing the air out of their lungs, but I don’t recall that I pressed hard at all.  Just a light finger touch back and forth..  Once I righted them they “woke” up, and would go dashing off on the maple or rock where I released them. The few times they didn’t wake up bothered me, and I would go running home in tears at having killed one of my special friends.  Thinking back on it, it was probably just the shock of being chased and handled that killed those few, but it usually took the wind out of my “catching” spirit for a few days.  I remember in particular one big male lizard that roamed a certain rock pile.  I’d catch him and take him way to the other end of the farm.  A week later he’d be back.  I named him, though I don’t recall now what it was.  I’d go find this rock pile and sit, waiting for him.  The view from this place was wonderful, and I could see into the next county during the fall when the leaves had started to drop. This was my favorite place in the world, and this lizard made it that much better.

I remember my first snake catch very vividly.  I was near the chicken pen, right at the opening to the tractor garage, just standing there, listening to the rustling of the leaves when I heard a rustling that was not the wind.  I listened all the harder, trying to judge from the sound whether it was a bird, squirrel, turtle, or other.  It was other. I slowly turned, not daring to make a sound.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw a black snake coming straight for me. It had a good sized lump in it, probably a ground squirrel that hadn’t been careful. As I started to move toward it, the snake stopped, startled that the rock in front of it had moved. It reared back and startled me, as I was expecting immediate retreat.  Remembering my father’s technique I quickly darted over and placed my foot behind its head.  I wasn’t close enough, though, and as I reached down to claim my prize, I received a pointed reprimand for not having been more careful.  I wasn’t worried, though, since I knew this was not a venomous snake, and held it up for examination.  It responded with a spray of musk, which I was prepared for, having seen (and smelled) my Dad get coated many times.  I held its head gently, but firmly, and supported the tail with my other hand.  I ran back to the house to show my Dad that I had learned the art he had so carefully tried to teach.  He was as proud as any Dad could be, despite the fact that I was an 8 year old girl with silver-blonde hair. We toted the prize off into the woods a half-mile or so and released it, hoping it wouldn’t come back to that area, since we had baby chickens that had just hatched. And, of course, my Mom had to clean up the little tooth marks imprinted into my hand, and she lectured me about the bacteria that were probably inside that animals mouth, especially since it had just eaten.  I was happy.

The year of my 7th grade came around, and I was excited. This would be my last year at the elementary school.  Here, junior high was 8th and 9th grades, so I was now in the “upper” class of the elementary school. I was hoping that in junior high I’d meet some other friends; mine were few and far between because I was the “weird” one.  In several grades, I spent part of my day with other grade levels because I had already advanced beyond what my classmates were doing.  This separation only antagonized them, and they let me know what they thought in the cruel ways kids do.  So, it was no surprise when I came home one day with a new nickname. But this one I liked.  You see, the herpetology man had been there that day,  with his presentation on reptiles.  When I had heard about it in the morning, I’d asked permission to go help him set up. During that time, I explained to him my interests, and asked that he “pick me” when he was looking for volunteers to come up on stage.  Surprised at the little blonde girl in front of him, he agreed.  Later, during his presentation, I was delighted when he remembered, and called me up on stage to hold some of his beautiful animals.  I remember a large boa or Burmese python, I’m not sure now which it was, as well as a few smaller snakes, probably kingsnakes and corn snakes.  He had an alligator in a box as well.  I was SO excited.  But, as soon as the show was over, and I was waiting for my ride home from school that day, someone starting calling me, “Snakewoman”.  The chants were endless, and I started to cry at first.  Then it hit me what they were saying, and I started smiling. I was Snakewoman, and it fit.

I endured 3 more years there in that school system, never finding anyone who really understood me.  A few people tolerated me, but I never fit in anywhere except at home with the wild animals.  After a particularly bad day, I’d go and sit out in the field, and wait for the deer to come out.  It was exhilarating to have them so close to me.  I’d read Bambi and the Yearling, and it was peaceful just to sit there and dream about what those animals might be thinking.  I’d be very still for a while, until it got too dark to see my way home, and then I’d move very slowly, trying always to not frighten them, but always doing so anyway. I only hoped that they understood that my intent was to love them, not scare them.

When I moved away from the farm I was 15.  My Dad stayed there, while my younger sister, my Mom and I moved a couple of hundred miles away.  We still got to visit when we wanted to, and I cherished those brief respites back to where I had once found my soul. At my Mom’s new apartment, it didn’t take long for me to long for my reptilian friends of old.  There was a pet store near us, and I used to wander in there and peek at what was there.  I succeeded in bringing home only some fish, though, as my mother was very adamant that reptiles would NOT be brought into her house. I remember my excitement one day when I was in the store and they had just opened a shipment. Out of the box they pulled a large snake bag.  Since they knew me at the store, they didn’t mind me holding one end of the bag while the clerk dealt with the “business” end. I gasped as he pulled out of the bag the most beautiful green and white snake I’d ever seen.  This gorgeous serpent was about 5 feet long, and was as pretty as any picture from the reptile books.  I knew I’d seen the snake’s picture before, but didn’t recall what it was.  “It’s an Emerald Tree Boa,” the clerk grimaced as he pulled the snake off of his glove-covered arm. (I’d wondered why he put gloves on that long!) “How much is it?” I asked, fully expecting at least $100 to be the price tag.  “$1200” he said,” Want me to bag it for you?” His teasing me like that was unbearable, and I began to plot a way to come up with that kind of money. It hadn’t mattered to me that the snake had obviously been, let’s say, hard-to-handle. My 16 year-old mind figured I could tame anything.  Fortunately for me, and the snake, I never was able to get that snake, but I haven’t forgotten it, and am still plotting how I’m going to save that kind of money for a future showpiece….

My Mom had to go on a week’s business trip at one point, and that left me with a prime opportunity to bring home a snake.  I walked the mile to the pet store and promptly paid my $15 or so for a garter snake.  I bought one of those plastic pet cages to put him in, and I was as happy as lark. I kept him in my room, with my younger sister as an accomplice. (Actually, I had some “dirt” on her, so I threatened to rat on her if she ratted on me…)Zachary was my first real “pet” snake, and I was thrilled.  I took him out whenever I could, and eagerly plopped a few goldfish in for him to scarf down.  It was humorous to watch him swim around the dish with his mouth open waiting for one to bump into his mouth.  I couldn’t understand why he didn’t just wait at the top of the dish and just reach in and grab the ones he wanted. It seemed sensible to me. Word got out at me new school about my pet, and I was apprehensive about their reaction.  “Neat! Can we come see it?!” they asked.  Even better was when the yearbook staff (I was on it) decided to do a spread on weird pets.  Zachary and I are forever famous in that high school yearbook. The caption reads, “Bonnie M.’s pet garter snake, Zachary, is wrapped around his master’s finger.”   Or something like that.  My Mom didn’t find out until 3 weeks after she got back from that trip.  “Just don’t let it get loose,” she warned. It didn’t get loose, but did overeat one day and died.  I had put a whole dozen goldfish in his bowl because I didn’t have anywhere else to put them…. Lessons are not easy to learn, and this one wasn’t fair to the snake.  But, I didn’t learn. Three years later I bought an Eastern Hognose snake at another pet store.  It was cute, and I bought it, with my fiance standing there saying, “What?!” .  “Snoopy” was a great little snake, and I had been warned that usually these snakes only eat toads.  “I’ll fix that,” I thought, and began feeding him the same goldfish that Zachary had once eaten.  And he ate them. For months he ate them.  Then, he stopped eating, and I was frantic.  After 4 months of not eating anything I offered him, I once again plopped the whole dozen goldfish in there, figuring I’d let them swim for a couple of hours before flushing them. Next thing I knew there were no goldfish left, and one very fat snake. A very fat, dead snake the next morning…. This time I learned.  

I had two more pet reptile tragedies during that time.  I got a baby green iguana at one point, and like 99% of the people in the world, I didn’t have a clue as to how to take care of it.  When it didn’t eat for a couple of days, I decided to “help” it eat, and placed a raisin in his mouth. The next morning the raisin was still in his mouth, where he had choked on it. No more reptiles for me, I decided, not until I can take care of them properly.  I went and started reading about reptile care, especially iguanas, and realized my many mistakes. I graduated from college and started teaching, and finally felt that I was ready to teach others about reptiles.  During my second year of teaching I went to another local pet store and asked if they would be willing to donate a reptile to my classroom.  One guy had just had a clutch of California Kingsnakes hatch, so he gave me one.  What I didn’t know is it had JUST hatched.  It hadn’t eaten yet, hadn’t shed yet.  It died within a week, but I don’t think it was anything I did.  This time it was just fate.

Again, I went into a frenzy of reading and learning about reptiles as pets. I talked to my high school students about reptiles and how valuable they are.  A few of them had snakes or iguanas, so it was easy. The day after school let out that year, my Assistant Principal called me in to her office and asked if I wanted a snake.  “Sure, what is it?” I replied.  A few days later I picked up “Kathryn” a 6 foot-long common boa, which we named for my then-husband’s sister. (She understands that it was a kind gesture, really.) Shortly after that,  I moved from my native Virginia to New Hampshire We arrived actually with 5 snakes in tow:  A Ball python named “Bob” whom he’d had for 15+ years, Kathryn the boa, a baby  Burmese python we dubbed “Royce Gracie” (world-champion Jiu-Jitsu master), a Sinaloan Milksnake named “Calypso” (Cousteau’s ship), and “Einstein”, a speckled kingsnake. Shortly after the move, we lost Einstein in a terrible thermostat overheating tragedy that nearly killed all of our snakes. However, upon arrival, I began looking for a herp club that we could get involved with. The closest one was the New England group that meets in the Boston area.  As we were not fans of large cities, that wasn’t good enough.  I’m too stubborn to accept that, and decided I’d start my own.  I scoured the web for help and came across Melissa Kaplan’s page that details how to start your own club (along with 800 other pages that detail reptile care).  I then aggressively began searching out potential members online.  I put up posters in the local pet stores, veterinary offices, etc. Finally I called the largest newspaper in New Hampshire and begged and bugged them until they did a story about us. Calls started coming in, and we began taking in animals as well. By the time we became an official non-profit organization in September, 1997, we were also only a week away from becoming a licensed animal shelter just for reptiles.

Over the next 2 years I brought the group from those meager beginnings to being well underway.  I began writing a monthly column for a local pet-related newspaper, and took on the job of being the Forum Leader for the Reptile Forum for the Pet Care Forum (hosted by AOL at the time, but owned by the Veterinary Information Network).  These things, combined with teaching science full-time, made me a very busy person.  I had truly dedicated my life to these animals, and had neglected the rest of my life.  In the summer of 1999, I moved back to Virginia and began over. VA Reptile Rescue has been thriving since then, with the support of my  husband, Rich, and has been going strong for 10 years now.

Reflecting on everything, I think back to that first black snake that wandered into my life 30+ years ago, and I wonder, “Who captured who?”

 

 

 

Website references:

 

Melissa Kaplan’s Reptile Care site : http://www.anapsid.org